


Hyperspace

by aurelie_saintjuste



Category: Star Wars: Rebels
Genre: F/M, Hurt/No Comfort, Major character death - Freeform, Pregnancy, Survivor Guilt, kanera - Freeform, liberation of lothal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-15
Updated: 2020-05-15
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:53:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24205453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aurelie_saintjuste/pseuds/aurelie_saintjuste
Summary: Hera Syndulla struggles coming to terms with a future without her Spectres.
Relationships: Kanan Jarrus/Hera Syndulla
Comments: 4
Kudos: 29





	Hyperspace

Hyperspace becomes inexplicably, devastatingly difficult for Hera Syndulla once the dust settles on a freed Lothal.

Not long ago, she found it so liberating, the swirls of blue and white replacing the velvet, inky darkness of real space past her viewport. Hyperspace was a finish line - an indicator that she and her crew were successful in a mission, jumping from one adventure to the next, narrowly escaping capture or destruction, but always with a story to tell. Hera was meant to be in the skies, chasing adventure and thwarting the Empire, and she was meant to be there with her found family.

But her family _isn’t_ aboard her ship. Her family would never again be aboard her ship, not in its entirety.

Hera makes the jump listlessly, mechanically, trying to swallow past the tightening of her throat and the tears threatening to spill. She flips switches and stabilizes her ship the same way she’s done countless times, but with no feeling to it. She exhales a shaky breath and settles into the long, quiet journey that will take her to her next base. Zeb offers to join her, but gives her space, spending most of his time in his bunk. One day, she’ll tell the Lasat how grateful she is that he came with her, his presence, no matter how unsettlingly quiet, calms her.

Sabine stays on Lothal, and Hera is proud of her for it. She’s grown so much since stepping aboard the Ghost, but Hera worries nonetheless. Ezra’s last transmission was cryptic when it came to Sabine, and she worries that she’ll find herself in danger pursuing Spectre Six.

She left Sabine on Lothal with as strong an embrace as her exhausted arms and broken spirit could muster, reminding her that she was never far, and that no span of skies could keep her away from her family. “Find Ezra,” she whispered in parting to Sabine, who nodded dutifully, but whose eyes shone with the same tears in Hera’s.

She wonders now if she will ever be able to step foot on Lothal’s soil again without feeling so hollow.

Hera adjusts herself, sinking into her seat. In the neverending blueness of hyperspace, Hera catches a glimpse of Kanan Jarrus’ too-blue eyes. _Well_ , she amends, _blue-green_. But the color is striking to her, taking on a new and deep significance, an aching loneliness, and each jump the Ghost makes takes her further from Lothal, and further away from _him_.

She sees that _last look_ , one hand holding back the explosive flames the other bodily throwing her into the transport, into safety, away from destruction and death. In the chaos, she was ashamed how angry she was at him, how close she came to hating him for being so stupid, so reckless. There was _always_ another way, how many times had they agreed on that? Why make the ultimate sacrifice? Why leave her behind? Why not take her with him? Had he survived, he would have defended his actions, no doubt, as part of the mission. _It had to be done, Hera! You would have done the same!_

_You knew the risks, Hera._

She _would_ have done the same.

_You still have work to do._

It doesn't matter much. The all-encompassing grief overwhelms the anger, the hate, the dedication to the cause.

The rewards hardly seem worth the risks, now.

Hera’s fingers curl around the yoke. It’s unnecessary, the Ghost will sail through the hyperspace lane on its own, at least for the next several hours. But there is some comfort there. Comfort in her ship. Comfort in the routine of it all. Comfort in Chopper at her side, who has powered himself down into a maintenance cycle under what Hera is sure is guise for giving her wide berth to mourn. Comfort in thinking that if she closes her eyes, she can imagine Kanan slouched in the co-pilot chair next to her, running her through some plan that only he and their crew could pull off.

If she closes her eyes a little longer and imagines a little deeper, Spectre One might even stand behind her own pilots chair, resting his chin on her head and wrapping his arms around her shoulders from behind. He might kneel beside her, slide one hand along the side of her face, his thumb stroking her cheek as he pulls her to meet his lips. And if she’s foolish enough or desperate enough, she might even imagine the taste of him in her mouth.

Hera shakes away the reverie, unsurprised to find that the tears threatening to spill have indeed done just that and slide unhindered down her cheeks. Her grip loosens on the yoke as she slumps back in her seat, the enormous weight of exhaustion and simply existing when he doesn’t are heavy on her body. She doesn’t bother wiping the tears away, they will inevitably continue to fall. They are merited, earned. She’s been too strong through this mission, she can’t carry this weight anymore.

She feigns a glance towards the co-pilots chair. No Kanan, of course, but instead her Kalikori. Hera hasn’t been separated from it since making her own addition to it back at the Rebel base at Lothal. She reaches for it now, pulling its familiar wooden shape close to her body, her fingers running along the recent addition she had made for her fallen lover, her partner in this relentless challenge to free the galaxy. There’s relief, a wave of warmth and companionship that comes with clutching to her whole family’s history in one small, physical manifestation. It doesn’t wash away the pain, but it whispers to her that she isn’t so alone as she feels.

And maybe she isn’t.

Hera stares out into the expanse of swirling space beyond her viewport and wonders what the next addition to the Syndulla Kalikori will achieve. She wonders if that other small, physical manifestation of her family’s legacy - mixed evenly with Caleb Dume’s extraordinary, if not abbreviated, history - will experience in a freed galaxy. If there is anything that grounds Hera in this fight without Kanan, it’s a renewed and relentless grit, a determination far surpassing anything she’s felt before to do right by this unborn child - she just had to figure out how to embrace this constant presence of loss, of choking grief and guilt to get there.

Not long ago, she was so afraid and uncertain of what to do with the news of a baby. Now, for Kanan, for herself, for Ezra and Sabine and Zeb and Chopper… for her found family who she loved so deeply and would protect until her dying breath, she would do right by this child. Hera will protect that last little piece of Kanan, and she will not fail this time.

“Oh, Kanan,” Hera whispers to hyperspace, to her Kalikori, to their baby, “I hope we do you proud.”

She will take on the entire Empire on her own to protect every one of them.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not much of a "songfic" person, but I was definitely inspired by this bit of Mandy Moore's "Silver Landings": 
> 
> “The past drifted out into orbit  
> But I'm back in the atmosphere  
> I'm spinning around, guess I'm still falling down  
> Part of me's missing, part of me's here.”
> 
> This is my first time ever writing in the Star Wars universe, which is huge and intimidating. Rebels has some of the most approachable, relatable characters and I just love them, so I hope to spend more time playing in their world. 
> 
> I'm agent-aurelie on Tumblr. Thanks for reading! <3


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